WallxArt: Bruises
by xTammyVx
Summary: "Oh, this? It's nothing. I walked into the fridge, and-" "Wally. We need to get you out of that house."
1. Bruises

**Pairings:**  
WallyxArtemis

**Summary:**  
"Oh, this? It's nothing. I walked into the fridge, and-" "Wally. We need to get you out of that house."

**Rating**:  
T for child abuse.

**Multi-chapter?**  
Maybe.

**AN:**  
I did a one-page comic strip (on my deviantART page) after this fic when it was incomplete, and a few people asked for the fic to be posted.

Don't be afraid to leave a comment! It gives me a little thrill when I see [New Review] in my emails :3

* * *

Her entrance had gone unnoticed. Maybe it's because of the fancy shoes that were a donation—which is apparently what it's called when gifts turn up in your locker, minus the pricetag, with a note that reads "_I hope these help with your gymnastics – Bruce Wayne_," and you are confused since you don't actually _take_ gymnastics—or maybe it was because the door was left half-open. Either way, Wally doesn't realise his girlfriend is watching him inspect his skin in the large, vanity-style mirror in the bathroom just down the hall from the kitchen. Probably for pimples; he's always so sensitive about imperfections. She smirks as the memory of them together on his bed slips in – him having fit snugly between her open thighs, and she'd gasped; "Wally, is that a _blackhead_ in your ear?"

It had taken him four minutes to figure out how to angle the mirrors so he could get a good look in, plus another one and a half for Artemis to persuade him that she was _joking_, that his complexion was _fine_, that there was definitely _nothing_ wrong with his ear. By the time he had crawled back on, a bashful smile on his blushing face, she wasn't in the mood anymore.

He'd pouted like a little girl.

And kissed her anyway.

"Talk about _self-obsessed_," she snorts, grabbing his attention. Wally doesn't spin on his heel like she expects him to, but he'd jumped at the sound of her voice, which gives Artemis a sense of satisfaction. "Our date is in four whole _hours_ and you've started getting ready _now_? You're worse than M'gann!"

Then Wally turns around, and her smile doesn't fade.

No, it drops, shatters on the floor.

"Oh, Artemis," he laughs nervously. "I wasn't expecting you so early in..."

His words are lost somewhere in the dusty corners of the bathroom, though it doesn't matter – she can't hear them over the twin beats of her heart, one straight after the other, at the sight.

"Wally, what _is_ that?"

"What?"

But he know _exactly_ what.

"_He's been in there all morning," Robin'd said – so how much has it healed since it got there?_

Almost without thinking, she reaches out her hand, caressing his cheek. Wally twitches when she touches him, _flinches_ when the skin of her thumb—barely—scrapes that above the throbbing plum-, maroon-, and orange-yellow-splattered _bruise_. Artemis feels her throat clog with far too many feelings.

"Oh, this?"

One of them is sadness.

"It's nothing."

One of them is anger.

"I walked into the fridge, and-"

From the very beginning of this conversation Artemis knew he was lying. When Wally isn't telling the truth, he starts a lot of sentences with a surprised sound. However, it isn't just this – she can see that the mark is the size of a man's knuckles, the edges blurred considerably.

"Wally," she sighs. Her voice is clipped, cold, and even though Wally knows that the intense crack in the name is not hatred directed at him, his face becomes blank for half a second.

He bites his lip, she steps closer, the whites of his eyes turn pink, and she knows he's going to start weeping any moment now, just as much as she knows that he doesn't want anyone, let alone his _girlfriend_, seeing him cry.

So Artemis loops her arms around his waist, and Wally's wrap tightly around hers. This embrace is one that makes her own windpipe shrink, especially as Wally begins panting out little sobs into her hair.

"We need to get you out of that house," she whispers.

He just pulls her in closer.


	2. When It Hits

**AN: Just posting to assure you that I'm not dead.**

* * *

Artemis remembers the first moment she realised that she isn't alone in the Team, that other parents aren't so kind to the children they are supposed to _love_, like it was just yesterday. There's nothing cliché about it, either. It's crisp, like coffee stains that you don't notice until the end of the day when it's too late to blot and bleed out.

It started with kissing. Because he is a teenage boy, and had patiently waited it out until his girlfriend was comfortable with it, Wally has wondering hands. They do not always make a darting beeline for, ahem, _round_ places. A lot of the time he revs her up first with fingers tracing her spine until she arcs into him, or a light, tickling brush on her inner thighs. One time, however, he changed his M.O. He'd carefully ridden her singlet up to the underwire of her bra, distracting Artemis with attention on her shoulder, and _damn_, that tiny whimper in his ear had been enough for him to bite the bullet.

"How about _no_, Kid Mouth," she'd snickered, drawing back, pushing the hem down again. Sure, he may have been propped up against the headboard with the blonde crawling all over him, but when she straightened herself and he had no choice but to let his hands drop to her knees...

Well, they _both_ knew who was in power.

"Aw, hey, you _love_ my mouth," Wally had grinned, chin flicking up for half a second, his thumbs circling the outer seams on her jeans.

She'd smirked, and in return Wally had looked at her chest and done that slow, thoughtful lip-bite. He doesn't do it to turn her on—he is _genuinely_ thinking when he pulls that face—but it always does. Artemis lowered, fisting the fabric of _his_ shirt, and gave him her best bemused pout.

"You first."

Suddenly, there was a frown on his freckled face.

"Oh, uh." He licked behind his bottom teeth and swallowed. "Don't worry about it, then." With barely a second for her to question it (would he _seriously_ not get off on having her half-covered breasts pressed to his bare skin?), he kissed her neck. Like nothing had happened.

Wally's hands left the girl's hips, swooping around to the small of her back.

"Oh," she choked out. It was a different sound than the one Wally had made, confusion stifled by the heat on her jaw. She knew that he was trying to lead her mind off the scent rather than pleasure her, which only jolted the curious spark into flame.

"It's not like I haven't seen you shirtless before," she reasoned, breathing hot air onto his ear, teasing.

With a quiver in his fingers, he shrugged; "Not in the mood anymore. Let's just drop it, alright?"

Oh, come on, like she was going to believe he was simply "not in the mood" when he was holding her like _that_. God dammit, if there is one thing Artemis is good at, it's knowing what is and isn't her business, and this was _definitely_ her business.

"Well, if you're not in the mood anymore then I won't _burden_ you."

And with that (plus a protesting look from Wally), Artemis lay out beside him and stared at the ceiling.

"C'mon, Art. You know I didn't mean it like that," he insisted, rolling over. The second he realised Artemis was not going to shove him away, he showered her in everything: kisses, touching, warmth, _heat_, tongue, teeth, roaming hands. She didn't respond at all, not even a little noise. Wally pulled back in dismay, and Artemis had to deny herself the giggles rising in her throat when he looked so utterly _helpless_, like he just didn't know what to _do_ with himself.

"Oh, _come on_," he groaned.

Artemis shrugged nonchalantly beneath him.

Eventually—more lip-biting having not done the trick—Wally crawled backwards and stood at the foot of his bed. The girl had locked eyes with him and shook her hand through her blonde hair, leaning her weight on her other palm. Wally chewed his lip as his focused gaze washed over all the delicious curves. He was doing this for a reason – two reasons, in fact. The neckline had slouched, revealing round shadows that made his insides melt and his loins _burn_.

He crossed his arms and took the bottom of his shirt in his fists. A deep breath punctuated Wally's movements and, without a drop of stripper flare, the speedster hastily pulled it off. And he just stood there, his T-shirt a blur as it fell to the floor.

The corners of Artemis' mouth dropped and her brows pinched together.

No.

"Oh my god," she whispered.

Wally swallowed and didn't dare look down at his own chest.

"I'm sorry. People don't like seeing me..." He sucked on his tongue and swallowed what little spit it produced, soothing the dryness of his throat as best he could. "...like this."

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for." It was Artemis' voice in her ears but she couldn't process it as such.

"I know, it's just—"

"_Nothing_," Artemis repeated. She had not felt the carpet under her feet, although Artemis was very aware of how close she was now to Wally, who had pushed his hands into his pockets, almost curling in on himself.

Each blotch was a sick reminder of her life before her mom and Ollie and the JLA Witness Protection Program. She reached out, tanned finger a stark contrast to his pale skin, even more so to the indigo colouring of his... his...

"It's your father, isn't it?"

Wally's hands drew from his board shorts. He nodded, toeing circles on the floor, his eyes gaining a sad shine and not venturing to meet Artemis'.

Artemis swallowed the clog swelling in her windpipe. "How long has this been happening?"

Again, the redhead looked past her. His mouth bunched slightly to the side before he replied quietly, "Dunno. A few years, I guess. It got worse when my powers developed and he realised that the bruises would fade quicker."

The two biggest marks were equal in size and placed symmetrically – one about an inch under each side of his collarbone. They were smaller than Artemis' palms, though she imagined they had been bigger before his father had left for the liquor store, and she tentatively covered them, careful not to apply pressure.

He had burned under her fingertips.

"I'll put my shirt back on," he offered. "It doesn't really matter." Wally gave his girlfriend a tight little smile. "I don't think _either_ of us is in the mood anymore."

Artemis' brain creaked as it launched back into gear, and without a single thought she pulled her singlet over her head. Wally blinked, _gawked_, at her bra. A simple one with lace trimming, cutting off at about three-quarters up her breasts, providing more than sufficient cleavage to have _any_ teenage boy staring.

A twinge of pride jolted up her spine, then guilt, and Artemis pressed her chest to his and tilted her head. Wally swept his hands up her sides, meeting at the small of her back.

She kissed him with passion, pushing all of her understanding and love into it. Artemis knew that Wally didn't just _want_ this, and with a pit in her stomach she realised why Wally slept at the Cave and Robin's so often.

Wally turned his head and pressed their mouths together again, taking one in his hand and testing how it felt. There was a somewhat _surprised_ sound at how soft they were, and then he was urging her to jump up onto him. Rather than dropping Artemis onto the bed, however, the redhead leaned her back against the wall and boosted her until she sat comfortably on his hips.

"You alright?" he asked, nudging her head aside for an easier angle on her throat.

Artemis mewled. "Yeah, I'm good."

Maybe to him it wasn't such a conscious thing, but Artemis knew that in this particular moment Wally needed her to act as a distraction. She was more than okay with it; if an intimate touch was necessary—as it had been for her—then she would grant him that. He wasn't going to go any further than grinding Artemis into the plaster, and maybe snuggle against her after a quick trip to the bathroom.

And then he would talk if he wanted to.

Right then, all she had wanted to be was what he _needed_ her to be.

.

"That was really something, huh?"

Artemis made an agreeing sound into his shirt – a short hum which sounded deeper than it actually was with her ear to his chest. Wally inhaled a nice, relaxing breath that had Artemis rising along with his toned stomach.

An ice-cream truck sang by outside, and Art half-expected her boyfriend to leap up and chase it. But no, he was enjoying the downtime, clasping one hand behind his ginger hair and closing off anything in the world that didn't involve himself and her. Artemis lay between his thighs, and Wally had his legs comfortably crooked so that she could drape herself over his body. The speedster hadn't needed much to become flustered, horny, and panting softly over her. Now was such a different sight that it was almost _funny_.

Almost.

"Wally, I think we need to talk," she murmured.

A brief sigh passed through his lips. Wally mumbled, "Yeah, okay. I guess that's fair."

They both rose, and Artemis had just sat beside him, knowing that the very _last_ thing he wanted was to be watched as he opened his heart to her.

"Why don't you fight back?" she asked after a miserable silence.

"It wouldn't be fair," sighed Wally, resting the back of his skull against the wall. "Superhuman, _human_, speed..."

"Why don't you _use_ that speed? It's okay if it's defence, right?"

He turned his head and looked at her, the devastation plain on his face.

"I try," he replied softly. "But when the moment comes, something happens and I... just freeze. That _never_ happens to me, unless it's with my dad. He scares me more than any guy in a costume could."

"Of course he does," Artemis agreed, reaching out to hold his thumb, and his broad hand curled around hers. "He's your father. You're supposed to be able to _trust_ him. I get it."

A rush of every horrible emotion that had ever so much as _crossed_ Artemis' mind when she thought of her dad nearly overwhelmed her. Nothing she was saying seemed to affect Wally in the slightest, other than deepening the shame on his face.

"My mom and I haven't got much, Wally. Just each other and that stupid little apartment on the bad side of Gotham, and I know it's nothing compared to wherever the hell Robin lives, but..." She rested her cheek on his shoulder and gave a little sigh. "...if you want, we can pack you an overnight bag and I'll clear out a drawer, so if you ever want to spend the night on Jade's old bed, you can."

Wally's expression brightened slightly. "Your mom would rather see me dead than sleeping in your room," he laughed quietly.

Artemis bit her lip and smiled, "Honestly, Baywatch, you'd have your work cut out for you if you tried to get any late-night action. The springs in those beds are like howling wolves. Ever heard an Asian woman rip at a boy for deflowering her daughter?"

His arm swooped around her shoulders, and Wally kissed his girlfriend's temple.

"Thanks, Art."

.

Nearly nothing has changed.

He still hates himself for breaking down in front of her, even though she tells him that she's been through it, too.

She still gets an intense sea-sick warping in her gut when he goes home after missions.

He's still not safe.

The only difference is that Artemis knows to look for the signs – the twitches, the flinches, when he scratches the back of his neck after jumping over a loud noise.

Artemis has promised Wally that she'll get his ginger ass out of there.


End file.
